


Jon's Moving Archive (aka Martin Blackwood is tired of dealing with Overdramatic Avatars and moody Archivists)

by HamandChiise



Category: Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, I'm playing with canon here, M/M, Need a beta reader but might just die like men without one, There are still going to be avatars and monsters and such in this, fast and loose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamandChiise/pseuds/HamandChiise
Summary: The Howl's Moving Castle! AU no one asked for yet I am delivering.Martin Blackwood runs his mother's teashop but has always felt detached from everyone. When he is saved by a mysterious man from a horrible end, he finds himself attracting all sorts of trouble after that. Afflicted by some strange malady, Martin must venture to a place well versed in the strange and paranormal: The Magnus Institute. But will he find more than he bargained for there?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51





	1. Statement Begins

The not-so-small city of England is where our story begins, in a section of the massive urban sprawl that was not too rich, nor was it too poor. The area in question had many different and interesting shops of family-owned nature, one of which happened to be Blackwood Forest Teas- owned by a widow and her son. While the widow was the true owner, she was rarely there and had recently been put into a care home due to her declining health… so she had left the operations to her son Martin, plus the staff. Martin was a sweet and hardworking young man, and although he did not necessarily have the most professional business acumen; he was quite adept at creating new and interesting blends of tea. So the other workers did most of the interfacing with customers, while Martin remained in the back of the store.

This suited him just fine, and day to day he worked to maintain his family’s business from the shadows of his shop, even as his friends he’d had when he first began to work there moved on without him to more interesting ventures, leaving him to work alone most days. He sat in the back room, adjusting herb and flower notes and packaging tins of tea, listening to people gossip and laugh and generally go on about their days, while he was instead focused on tea. 

\-------------------

One such day, when the weather was warm and many stores closing early due to a holiday, Martin was invited to come spend time with one of his few friends, Tim, at the bakery in which he now worked. Tim was not only handsome, but charismatic and was doing quite well for himself at his new job, but he’d wanted to check in with Martin, who was always a bit of a shut in even before he took over managing Blackwood Forest Teas. So this particular day, Martin had packed up a small parcel of tea and biscuits for his friend and slipped out into the busy and, for once, sunny streets of London.

There truly was some sort of celebration clogging up the main streets, so Martin ducked into the back alleys, preferring to remain where there were less people’s eyes sliding over him and less foot traffic to dodge around. He adjusted his jumper, feeling a tad too warm in the weather but knowing it would be more comfortable inside the bakery. He stepped along until he was stopped by a figure at the end of the alleyway. She was in a red dress, though it looked torn and stained. She possessed no shoes, was standing on some sort of mass, and Martin inwardly winced at the idea of walking around London’s streets without proper footwear. Maybe she needed some help? He walked a bit closer- but as she turned he stopped dead in his tracks.

The woman, if he could even call her that anymore, was writhing with the insects that pulsed in and out of her face, arms, and any flesh not covered by her rotten red dress. Her cheeks were pockmarked and lightly oozing as silver worms danced in an obscene waltz along her visible jawbone, and her eyes were unfocused yet sharply gazing upon him.

The woman took a step closer, worms trailing off of her in occasional wet sounding plops and Martin’s eyes were flicking down at them and then up to this- this thing’s face, in panicked horror. But as he backed up, he nudged into someone and he yelped. But instead of worms crawling into his neck, he felt a solid hand come onto his shoulder. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Don’t take your eyes off her, but walk backwards at a brisk pace. Come now.”

Martin hazarded a look up and saw a man who... looked like complete hell if he was being honest. His long hair was greying and unkempt, tied into a loose bun. Spectacles hung on his nose and he seemed to possess a few round scars along his face and neck. But there was something about his eyes that caused Martin to relax.They were dark, fathomless depths and looking at him with...irritation? Why irritation? Oh right- Martin was supposed to be looking at-

The worm woman was suddenly a lot closer than she had been, and with a strength Martin didn’t realize was possible, the taller man had grabbed his hand and tugged him backwards down the alley as the parasitic being skittered after them, mouth open in a soundless scream as a wave of worms fell from dessicated lips to charge alongside her. 

The mysterious gentleman pulled Martin along, muttering something about “Now you’re involved…” but Martin couldn’t hear much through the thudding of his heart. Something about this unknown man filled him with such ease, even as they were dashing through the side streets of London, avoiding a literal monster that was pursuing them with hundreds of flesh-eating insects. It was almost ridiculous how safe Martin felt. 

His savior pulled something out of his bag, some sort of old book, and thumbed through the pages that appeared to be smudged, no, caked with dirt and soil. He read a few lines and Martin’s breath caught as the alleyway seemed to press around them for a dizzying second. But the way behind them was sealed off, and there was a new path there hadn’t been -surely- hadn’t been there before. But there was no respite. They continued their hurried pace, dashing along now with quite a bit of speed, because although they didn’t see the woman, they could hear the slick slapping of the worms along the ground in hot pursuit, relentlessly chasing after their quarry. 

Martin felt rather than saw the dirt book being closed as suddenly he could breathe much more freely… but with a stomach lurching panic, he could see a literal wall of worms in front of him, surging in a rubbery tidal wave. They were trapped. It was a dead end. That’s it. They were dead….The man’s hand was no longer on his own and Martin swore, feeling like he was abandoned, left to be eaten and rot in these alleys; but he managed to hear “Hang on” over his own frantic heartbeat before he was jerked UP into the air, the worms colliding with the space they had just been in moments before.

Martin was up, floating... no- flying and the ground spiraled away from them in a terrifying arc. He could smell ozone and fresh, clean mountain air… far cleaner than London’s smoggy sky and it felt all wrong. He felt like he would be careening away into the sky forever, never again feeling the Earth on his feet and would he prefer this to the worms? He wasn’t sure, oh he really wasn’t sure anymore…  
But after a moment, he knew he wasn’t alone. He could feel the hands that were under his arms slide down along his woolen jumper to take hold of his hands, and oh… the mysterious man’s hands were warm… Though scarred and calloused, his fingers were long and sure as they entwined with Martin’s. “You won’t fall… extend your legs and start to walk… That’s it.” The man’s voice encouraged softly, with no real room for argument. Martin didn’t realize he had been doing precisely what that voice had entailed until he felt the pair of them moving along through the air. He opened his eyes, looking down at London far below them, seeing the celebration and the rooftops and feeling just how truly vast and beautiful his home was.

Martin looked to the other man’s face, that seemed to be concentrating on their descent, and so Martin turned his attention back to the city, a slight flush on his face. His savior really was quite handsome… But he’d looked away at precisely the right time to miss the dark eyes flicking back to his face in return. They floated above ignorant passers-by, seemingly invisible in their journey, until Martin and the stranger had settled on the top balcony of the very bakery and restaurant Martin had been trying to get to.

“I’ll be able to draw the Hive off, but you should wait a bit before going back outside. Be back in your home by dark… and you should also see about getting some CO2 extinguishers if you can, the worms can’t stand the cold.” The mysterious man said, balanced on the railing, before letting go of Martin, who looked mournful at the loss of contact. But all Martin could do was blankly nod, rather shell-shocked at the whole thing.

Martin’s bespectacled hero seemed to nod in satisfaction, before he stepped off the railing backwards and dropped out of sight. This caused Martin to rush forward in fear, recalling that horrid dropping sensation- but when he looked over the edge…. No one was there. The celebrations were carrying on without them. The noise of the people around him eating caught his attention and he realized he’d been standing on this balcony full of people and not a single person had even noted he was there. 

A loud clanging caught Martin’s attention and to his left, Tim, the man who he’d come to see was staring at him in pure shock, tray he’d been carrying on the floor. “Martin you just- you just appeared! What the hell’s going on?” He demanded.

\------------------------

After a sit-down, some tea and fresh scones provided by Tim, Martin felt like he was a bit more himself again. Tim seemed to take the whole thing as some sort of astounding, spooky circumstance. “You managed to get rescued by a scarred, old man avenger type from a worm demon. Only you, Martin, could get saved by a man that’s precisely your type and not even know his name.”

Martin flushed at this. “He wasn’t old, at least… I don’t think… he didn’t seem that much older than me really, apart from the greying hair.”

Tim was grinning at him, smugly. “Didn’t say he wasn’t your type I noticed... You should be careful though- if he did all the crazy things you said he could do, he’s probably some sort of monster himself, looking for little virgins to sacrifice to his spellbooks.”

Martin huffed out a sigh, “But he was so kind to me… he SAVED me, Tim.”

Tim gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “I know, I know. But you can’t be too careful… there’s all sorts of monsters out there in London, and I’m not just talking about the people. Maybe you should go give your statement to that Magnus Institute place, they’re always looking into weird, paranormal happenings and this totally counts...”

But Martin wasn’t listening. He was staring at his palm and thinking about dark, fathomless eyes and warm, lithe fingers slotted against his own. It took a clearing of a throat from Tim to pull him back into the present. Eventually, their meeting came to an end as Tim had to get back to work, but before they parted, Tim looked Martin over seriously.

“Martin, are you sure you really want to keep working at that tea shop and living on your own? It’s not really the safest…” He trailed off, looking at the shorter man with concern.

“The shop means so much to Mum, I’m not going to sell it or the flat just because she’s... I don’t mind. Really.” Martin said with a weak little laugh, rubbing at this neck.

Tim shook his head, clearly irritated. “I didn’t ask what your Mum would have wanted, Martin. I asked what YOU want. It’s your life Martin, do something for you!” 

But Martin merely shook his head, thanking Tim for his time before heading off back towards the shop before the last dregs of light were out of the sky, recalling the warning ringing in his head to get home before dark.

\----------------------------------

Martin stepped inside his now empty shop with a sigh. He went to lock the door, looking at the seal for worms or anything else like it as he did so. But it was thankfully bug-free. So he went back to the till and made sure everything was accounted for. He was about to head to bed when the bell of the shop let out a little jingle. But when he looked up there was no one there. The door hadn’t looked like it moved either.

So Martin, small shop extinguisher in hand, walked over to investigate. When he got over to the door, he noticed with a start that it was unlocked. He’d distinctly remembered locking it, but he chalked it up to his imagination and turned to go get his keys... It was only when he turned to spy a man there by the counter who CERTAINLY had not been there before did he let out a panicked squeak. 

The figure was dressed like an old sea captain, hat pulled over a shock of white hair and a surprisingly pale face, keeping it mostly obscured as it inspected the tea tins by the counter. The man turned after a moment or two to regard Martin with a smile that although kind, seemed hollow and empty.

“What a nice little shop you’ve got, so many different varieties here. Must be the work of quite a dedicated individual… or maybe quite a lonely one, to put so much love into something that can’t love you back.” The tone of the words were light but they struck Martin to the core. He uncomfortably started forward, gesturing to the door.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to go now. The shop is closed sir.” He insisted, with all the polite dismissal he could manage.

At this, the man’s grin grew wider and Martin felt a shiver, like being out in a cold fog, before the man stepped even closer to him.

“Suits me just fine, I’ll get out of your way.” He hummed what sounded like a sea shanty, but with some sort of strange step, he was no longer in front of Martin, but right behind him. 

The captain leaned close and whispered in his ear with that same, damnable smile on his face, “You’d still be all alone even if I am here, Martin. Give my regards to The Institute.” Then the man gripped his shoulder with a squeeze and it felt like Martin had been plunged into ice water as everything seemed to fade around him into cold nothingness.

Another merry chime of the doorbell and the lock, clicking back into place signalled the man’s exit, not that Martin was around to hear it…. The store was entirely empty, and Martin was gone.


	2. The Institute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was a lot harder to write than the first one, but I'm gonna keep at it. I had a tough time deciding who was going to be playing the role of Calcifer and I settled on what made the most sense... but it also makes kind of no sense? Eh... it'll be fine. ENJOY!

Martin felt like he'd been trapped in that empty, unfeeling and draining void forever. He was numb in a way that was both hell and heaven as he struggled at first but quickly realized there was nothing to see or seek out in this place. It was only what felt like years later did he look down at his hand and remember long, warm fingers and dark, searching eyes that he realized he didn’t want to BE here anymore. At least not right now, anyway. With what felt a tug behind his navel like someone dragging him with a rope, he was...unceremoniously back. In his wandering, he’d ended up in his flat above the store. He could hear someone coming up the stairs and then, quiet knocking at his door. 

“Martin, you up yet? Not like you to lie-in this late…” One of his employees said, voice muffled through the wood.  
“Yep, feeling sick! Best not come in or you might catch it,” Martin called out, but his voice sounded odd, faint and hoarse like an echoed scream. 

The other person tutted, sounding sympathetic. “We’ve got the store open and everything, just take it easy, yeah boss man?” Before he could even reply, the sound of the wooden stairs heralded their retreat leaving Martin alone.

Martin took a couple of shaky breaths, and walked towards his kitchen for a cup of tea to soothe his nerves from what must have just been a series of awful dreams. His reflection in the mirror gave him pause though. Martin’s normally warm complexion was quite a touch paler than usual, and his hair… He staggered toward the mirror and ran his hands through the curls. His hair was stark white, curls snarling together like a rolling fog. As he began to panic over this new predicament, he felt a sliding sort of sensation and began to turn see-through, watching the bedroom behind him come into view through his jumper and head.

“Ah!” With a startled cry, he touched the mirror and found himself to become opaque once more; but he smelled that lingering scent of fog and emptiness for a few seconds after. Okay… no panicking or he’d end up back there. Wherever there even was.

Martin looked at himself, this pale new version in the mirror, and contemplated what he was going to do. He could crawl into bed and sleep this thing off- no. The mirror felt cold and real, this wasn’t a dream or something he could just wish away. 

“Can’t pretend to be sick forever either…” He muttered to himself, gloomily. After a few moments of considering, Tim’s words yesterday popped into his head. The Magnus Institute. They were in London, and if what Tim said was true, they were good with “weird, paranormal stuff”, stuff precisely like what Martin was dealing with.

So he figured that it was the best course of action and set himself up with a light breakfast (meaning he tried to eat but everything tasted like cool, damp fog) and, with a conscious effort, managed to turn himself see-through again and slipped down the stairs. He had to go through the shop to leave but as he walked in, expecting fear…. He got nothing.

No one could see him like this. Which, honestly was just what he’d wanted but it felt really weird all the same. He waited for a customer to leave the shop, listening to her go on at the counter for far too long about her pets and wishing she would just move already. But eventually she tidied up her change and left, Martin slipping out after and leaving her behind with a shiver.

\------

The streets of London were cooler that day, but Martin didn’t really feel it, not bothering to slip from his transparent state as he went along. From his understanding, the Magnus Institute was in Chelsea, near the Thames. Almost everyone had heard stories or rumors of the kinds of things they took in and looked after, but no one he’d ever known had gone in. This was a bit nerve-wracking for Martin, but he pressed on- not wanting to really question anyone on the whereabouts of the place.

It took a fair bit of the day, wandering and looking about- slipping through gaps of pedestrians and leaving behind cold shivers and lingering feelings of isolation in all he passed. But after several hours of aimless wandering near the Thames, he stumbled upon it. Martin honestly had probably passed it already today at least once. It was small, and old-looking... He would even consider it unassuming apart from its pillared exterior. But he noted the door said he was at the right place, so in Martin went. 

He didn’t even recall he was still invisible to passers by until he approached the front desk where a kind-looking receptionist was working. Martin paused. She hadn’t looked up when the door opened, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to see him. What was he going to do? How on earth was he going to just pop into existence and not give this poor woman a heart attack? He was beginning to regret even coming in when her phone rang.

She answered, but after listening to whomever was on the other line, looked confused for a moment or two and eventually ended with a “Yes, Mr. Bouchard,” before hanging up. 

After a brief pause, she called out to the empty reception room. “Mr. Bouchard will see you now. Head to the right and his office is up the stairs.” She looked a little confused herself, but went back to what she’d been doing, looking up every so often with a look of concern on her face.

Martin was suddenly aware she had been addressing him, though she didn’t know he was even there. Whoever had called her had known though, this Mr. Bouchard person. So he nodded to himself and slipped down the corridor she’d mentioned and up the stairs towards the office. The whole place looked pretty standard. There was what looked like a canteen, and a large library with people working. There weren’t too many employees that he saw, but it was later in the day. 

He stepped up the stairs and eventually came to the door, where he realized he should probably bring himself back to visibility. It took a bit of doing, it was harder bringing himself back than slipping into that foggy half-state, but he managed. He knocked on the door the same time as a proper voice called out for him to “Come in.”

Martin opened the door to a clean office, where a man sat at the table. He was primly dressed, but had a smile on his face that reminded Martin a bit of an old copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, he’d had when he was a boy. Particularly in the re-printed picture of the Cheshire Cat, grin warped and long in its water-damaged grin, along with its bulging, predatory eyes. Unsettling, especially sitting on the face of the man in front of him. But soon enough, it faded and he looked far more serious as he gestured the other to the chair in front of him.

“Mr. Blackwood, nice to see you’ve made it after all. I was worried I would have to push this appointment to tomorrow, which would have made my schedule far more murky than I would have liked. I am Elias Bouchard, head of The Magnus Institute.”

Martin wanted to interrupt, ask just how the hell Elias had known he was even in the reception area- but blinked when he realized this man knew his name too, without Martin even giving it.

“How’d-” He started, but this crisp, polished gentleman steepled his fingers peering at Martin over them with a bright, piercing gaze. Martin shivered.

“To save us both time, Martin- knowing the answers to those questions isn’t going to help you with the current ‘problem’ you find yourself afflicted with.”

That shut Martin up rather quickly, and he let out a sigh that was tinged with irritation. “Well then what is?”

This man, Mr. Bouchard, seemed to perk up at that. “Well, luckily for you, I happen to know the man responsible for this… little encounter. While his motivations are unknown to me, his methods have always been pathetically predictable. So, I can offer you this.” 

He moved to slide a piece of paper and a pen along the desk to Martin, who leaned forward only to balk at it.

“A contract of employment? But I work at a tea shop- I don’t NEED a job, I need answers! I don’t know what’s going on with me or even how to stop it! I’ve spent the last two days chased by monsters and then turned into some sort of- I don’t even know what!” He cried out, rather hysterically. 

Mr. Bouchard seemed to take this all in stride, watching with a clinical eye as Martin threw his hands up and gesticulated wildly at the contract and then himself. After a few moments, when Martin was through, he continued as if the whole thing was sorted already.

“Your fellow employees will handle the running of Blackwood Forest Teas with or without you. The one thing you won’t get at your home is answers, Mr. Blackwood. The Magnus Institute prides itself on research- gaining insight and understanding of the unfathomable and unknowable. If you wish to remain the way you are, you’re free to refuse.”

Martin looked at the man’s face, and let out another irked sigh. They both knew Martin wasn’t going to refuse, and that just frustrated him more. He plucked up the pen and signed the contract, not even getting a chance to dig deeper into the fine print before it was slipped back to the other side of the desk and into some sort of file waiting for him. Martin thought about being petty and taking the pen but his new boss held out his hand for the vintage writing implement and Martin passed it over.

“Well, we’ll get the rest of the paperwork all sorted out, and you start first thing tomorrow. Go ahead and take a look around if you’d like, get some food at the cafe. You’ll be working in the archives in the basement. We’ll see you tomorrow at eight sharp.”

With that, Elias Bouchard stood and walked to the door, motioning him to go ahead and exit. Martin, feeling rather like he’d been swept up into some sort of dizzying tornado, could only numbly nod and exit. 

After a few moments standing outside the closed door of, his new boss apparently?, his stomach gave a weak grumble. Right, he hadn’t really eaten much today and Elias had said something about food. Time to go to the cafe and get himself something to eat. Maybe it wouldn’t taste like cold fog this time… but he really doubted it. (He was wrong, it was delicious, even if the food was a bit cooler and more damp in his mouth than he would have liked.)

The day ended with Martin heading home, long after the store was closed for the night, slipping in and heading to his flat only to spend a fitful night of sleep lost in a foggy hellscape; the only thing there apart from himself was the lingering feeling of being watched by dark, fathomless eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supplemental: Snarky British people are hard to write, Elias especially so as he's both INSUFFERABLY SMUG AND INSCRUTABLE in equal measure.
> 
> The Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill, and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license. It fits under the genre of horror fiction podcast, and is written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J. Newall.


	3. The Corridors and some helpful advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin struggles to get to work on time, but it seems weird creatures aren't done with him. Also what is up with his co-workers? They're truly bizarre.

The next morning was in many ways, hard to recall. Martin had woken up late, had no time for breakfast, and with the stress of slipping free into London past his workers and retracing his steps, he wasn’t in his right mind. In hindsight, he supposed the door he had taken hadn’t ever really been there in the shop. But it was so natural, he’d stepped through before he was even aware that he’d done so and by then it was far too late.

But the inside of this place was nowhere like he’d ever been, hallways and corridors of shifting impossibility and color. It rather hurt his brain to look at it all, and he tried in vain to pop into that half-state to lessen the intense FEELINGS of this place. He was here, in this kaleidoscopic present.

Grating, echoing laughter, like nails across a thousand shattering chalkboards brought his attention to a mirror; where a…. something... stood watching him. It had a grin that was splitting its face open, blonde hair falling to its shoulders in perfect coils, twisting and yet going nowhere along its lanky face. Martin couldn’t bear to look it in the eyes, the orbs giving him a vicious headache, more so than anything else in this place.

“You’re going to be late to work, little Assistant.” It said, in an airy, sing-song tone. 

Martin huffed out a sigh. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me the way out? I don’t want to get fired on my first day.” 

Another grating, brain-rending giggle, as if Martin had told a particularly funny joke. “The way out is far past you at this point, it’s only a matter of how much further you’re going to go in, Assistant.”

Strangely, that gave Martin pause. It seemed almost like the thing was trying to warn him. Well, too late now. He was already employed with The Magnus Institute, the only thing he could do now was get fired for being late and never get the answers to what was wrong with him, why he seemed to attract weirdness so much these days. Martin huffed and moved to the mirror to the left and pressed, hoping maybe he could get out of here. 

Surprisingly, it felt more wooden under his hand, and a door seemed to melt into being, or like it had been there all along and he was just now aware of it. A prickling pain along his shoulder had him turning to see a hand, swollen and feeling a bit like wet leather, settled on his shoulder. Its fingertips were knife-sharp and digging into him, but it wasn’t holding him in place, rather like it was trying to steady him.

“Trading Isolation for Knowing isn’t always better. It could even cause you to… unravel.” It plucked at a fiber, and Martin’s jumper began to unspool in spiraling, ever-changing threads, falling around him in impossible shapes. Martin clucked his tongue. He’d rather liked that jumper, it was soft; even though its drab grey was a bit too much like the fog of late he’d been trapped in.

“You might just enjoy the feeling of becoming undone, it certainly has a lasting effect. Far more intense than being all alone.” A much more vibrant jumper was on him now, like it had always and never before been there; the colors bright and fun. Martin found himself liking it, quite a lot.

Martin looked at the garment, then at the being looming behind him with its broken, fractal grin. Then he offered it a smile, and reached for its long, impossible hands, taking one in his own. The creature’s own large grin faltered, and it flexed its other hand threateningly, but Martin just took its hand and shook it.

“I’ll remember that advice. I appreciate you looking out for me too, I suppose. I’m going to work now, but thank you.”

The being looked… shell-shocked, if all the color spilling out of its open mouth onto the floor was any sort of indication of that. Martin tried the door, found that it opened, and stepped through into the bright light of the morning. When the door shut behind him, he blinked. He seemed to have been deposited all alone in the streets of Chelsea, London right at the door of his new workplace.

Well that whole experience was… rather bizarre. Still, he would have been late without the assistance of that Spiral-thing. He supposed he’d call it Spiral until he knew a better name for it.

With that, Martin strode into The Magnus Institute at two minutes until eight, colorful jumper rumpled and hair all sorts of askew. 

The secretary (he introduced himself properly to her this time- Rosie, her name was) showed him where to head to get into the archive in the basement of the Institute. He stepped down into the climate controlled air, feeling more dried out and in the present than he’d been the past three days of misty confusion. It was… rather nice.

But as he stepped in he was set upon by a woman. She had wild looking red hair and for some reason, Martin thought of “clown” immediately when he saw her, but he supposed that was just the red of her lips and ruddiness of her cheeks combined with her firey ginger hair. He dismissed the rude thoughts and waited for her to speak to him. 

“Welcome to the Archives! Are you here to give a statement?” She asked, looking from him to the door in the back before continuing. “Our Archivist isn’t in at the moment- so you’ll have to wait. Want a cup of tea while you do?”

Martin blinked, then shook his head. “Ah, no I’m… Martin Blackwood, I was hired yesterday? Apparently?” He offered, putting his hand out for her to shake. When all of a sudden, something happened to the woman in front of him. Martin balked as she appeared to… change. Suddenly she looked nothing whatsoever like she previously had, and she adjusted a bracelet that appeared to have some sort of web pattern on her wrist. 

“Ah, right. You’re the new guy then? You don’t particularly seem all that impressive, but looks can be quite deceiving you know.” She said, and it seemed like she’d made some sort of joke, the way she chuckled, but Martin didn’t get it. This was the second time some strange being had made a joke he wasn’t in on, and he didn’t like it. 

He was going to ask, when all of a sudden, there were steps behind him and he vanished before he could even realize he did it. The Notwoman had turned back into her original appearance of an eccentric, clownish type of woman, and regarded a shaken person at the doorway as she repeated the same procedure she had with Martin.

This individual did in fact, want to give some sort of statement, but was able to be persuaded to come back a bit later. Though by their haunted eyes and dirt on their clothes it seemed being down here in this basement was a monumental task for them. 

Martin watched them go off, then sort of pushed himself back into visibility to see the Notwoman was back to her younger self and peering at him. “What happened to you then, that you could do that?”

Martin shrugged helplessly. He really didn’t know much more than anyone else did. “What about you, you’ve got some sort of disguise thing.. You’re like two different people!”

The woman laughed weakly. “Down here weird things happen to you. It’s a good thing you’re already touched by it- so you don’t attract anything worse. Sasha James, Archival Assistant and your new co-worker.” She took his hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Martin. Now, as I’ve said two times now, our boss isn’t in at the moment. He’s probably overslept or something, if he managed sleep at all. But you’ll probably run into him later in the day. I’ll show you around, show you what needs doing. This place isn’t in the best shape, but we manage.”

With that, the woman who was Sasha and also Not Sasha led him around and showed him the archives. Their attempts to put some sort of filing system in order were met with horror on Martin’s end and a sympathetic pat from Sasha. Seems he had his work cut out for him.

\----------------------------------------------

Eventually, after a few hours of working, Martin needed some sort of break from the grunt work of moving boxes about. It was incredibly boring, and more physically taxing than he was used to. He’d discarded his colorful new jumper and knew his arms were going to be sore tomorrow.

“Why don’t we transcribe some of these older letters and stuff, they’re falling apart.” Martin had barely managed to keep a few papers from disintegrating after picking up a mislabeled file. 

“I wish, but Jon’s really particular about statements. Ones that can’t be recorded digitally have to be recorded with tape, and the recorders are never around when we need them so he’s the only one that does it.” She explained, like that was a reasonable thing to say and not something completely insane.

“You mean like that tape recorder right there?” Martin pointed to where a paper sized tape recorder was sitting on the desk, on and seemingly recording at this precise moment. 

“Wh- how did that get there?” Sasha asked, turning with outright shock on her face as Martin moved to inspect it. It seemed to have just turned on as it had plenty of tape left on it to record with. He looked at the file in hand, then at the recorder. This one felt right. He settled in the chair near the tape recorder and began to read.

“Statement of Lesere Saraki, regarding a recent night-shift at Saint Thomas Hospital, London. Original Statement given February 11, 2012. Audio recording by Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins. I’m a nurse…”

Martin was worried his voice would sound unsure, but as he spoke he felt rather calm. He was just reading the letter, wasn’t even aware that he’d started it off in such a peculiar and specific way. He’d just done what felt right at the time. As he read and was swept up in the emotions of this individual, he forgot about everything else, including Sasha, who he would have noticed was gaping at him like he was on fire.

“The recorders are working for him… letting him read statements.” She muttered to herself, disbelieving, as she watched Martin for a few moments before footsteps caught her attention. She turned to see her employer, looking from her to Martin and back as Martin read the rest of the statement. The pair of them were silent observers to this little scene.

After a moment or two, Martin seemed to come back to himself, feeling like he’d been hard at work all day, the energy seemingly sapped from that action, though it couldn’t have even been half an hour he was at the reading. He turned to see a hand had clicked off the tape recorder. A hand that had very familiar fingers. He peered up to see the mysterious man who had saved him three days ago, looking down at him with an intensity he’d only seen in his dreams lately

“Who are you, then?” The tone was clipped and, Martin noted with some confusion, decidedly unfriendly.

“Uh, I’m Martin Blackwood, I’m your, well I’m your new assistant? I just started today and so I- well…” His mysterious savior didn’t let him finish, plucking up the tape recorder, then held his other hand out for the paper file. Martin meekly passed it over, feeling rather like he’d already gotten himself into trouble.

“Jon there’s no need to terrorize Martin. He managed to read one of your “difficult” statements. He’s probably exhausted, the least you could do is thank him!” Sasha berated the other man, looking at him with a disappointed frown.

His savior’s name was Jon… Jon.. the same one Sasha mentioned- so that made him Martin’s new boss. How horrifying. But it seemed that Jon had no clue who Martin even was now that he had whatever affecting him. Small mercies, he supposed. But this made a whole new problem appear in that Jon didn’t appear to like him in the slightest. For no real reason either. How unfair

But then he watched Jon sigh and nod, apparently listening to Sasha as he offered his hand for Martin to take. Martin considered it, but got up shakily on his own. Before he could even do anything else Jon was in his personal space, dark eyes even blacker in the dim lights of the basement.

“Who do you work for, why are you here?” He asked, and Martin felt the words spill- no… pulled out of him before he could even do anything else. “I work for the Institute and you, apparently. I came here to give a statement and got a job out of it. I don’t even know what’s going on...”

Martin nearly collapsed back into his seat as he felt even more exhausted under the weight of that terrifying gaze, but it seemed to answer whatever Jon had needed to know. He straightened up. “I’m going to have a talk with Elias. Sasha, help Martin settle in, and please don’t let him read anymore statements.” He instructed, before stepping away at a brisk pace.

Sasha put a comforting hand on Martin, helping to steady him as he managed to gasp out at a level low enough his retreating boss wouldn’t hear, “What… was that?”

Sasha sort of shrugged. “Something weird. But seems you passed the test, or the first one anyway. Not like Jon could fire you even if he wanted to. Elias took you on. But Jon’s right, lets not have you reading anymore of those… How about some tea and a sandwich for the moment? It’s about lunch time.”

Martin looked at his watch. “Sasha it’s only 10:26.” 

She shrugged again, “Early lunch then. Makes the after lunch work go by so much more quickly, you won’t even believe. Come on, it’ll be my treat, and we can ask each other all kinds of fun and awkward questions as we get to know and make each other incredibly uncomfortable.”

Martin didn’t have the strength to protest as she led him along to the canteen. Though he did have a pretty nice time talking to Sasha as they had their early lunch, and the rest of the day went by rather quickly. It was almost...mundane, the rest of the day, compared to the start of it. Martin supposed you could get used to almost anything, really… if given the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ALMOST FORGOT TO PUT TURNIPHEAD (AKA MICHAEL) IN THIS CHAPTER I AM A FOOL.
> 
> Also I did sort of combine Sasha and Not Sasha, but in a cooler way, since Markl has a disguise too, so does Sasha when dealing with people. That's all I really got, this is coming along much better than I ever dreamed possible, and I hope I have enough steam to keep it up. Everyone's comments and kudos mean the world to me and I'm so very grateful this ridiculous story entertains you as much as it is entertaining me
> 
> The Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill, and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license. It fits under the genre of horror fiction podcast, and is written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J. Newall.


	4. Knowing and Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin gets "used" to working at the Institute, deals with doors and Moody Archivists.

The next several months proved this little theory correct. Martin worked with Sasha and Jon (though the latter was usually holed up in his office or out taking care of things, so he didn’t really see him) going about researching whatever statements and follow-ups he was assigned, as well as working on organizing everything. When asked about the system and why it was so haphazard, Sasha explained that Jon had only recently become the Head Archivist, as the previous woman had gone missing, presumed to be dead. As Martin gained more experience in his new work role, he did learn three important things however.

One, this world contained nightmares and terrors beyond any sort of comprehension he’d previously had, some of which he was able to recognize in his own bizarre experiences. Beings such as Jane Prentiss, (the worm woman that had chased him and Jon when they’d first met) or Spiral were very much real and the people that came in contact with them were rarely as lucky as he was. Martin seemed to have been marked for something in particular, as the other people coming in to give statements just seemed to barely make it out alive, unlike himself. So while Martin should have considered himself lucky, all he ended up feeling was rather irritated by the lack of follow up from that silver-haired old boat captain that had done this to him. Martin hadn’t seen him since it occured, only really dealing with the fog intermittently when he felt it creeping up on him.

The second thing was that, Jon did in fact, seem to dislike him for some reason Martin couldn’t quite fathom. His boss often stared right at him, dark eyes boring into him as he brought in tea that was barely touched or offered up information about a follow-up that was scoffed at and dismissed. It was a far cry from the man who had saved him those months ago. In fact, Martin had a hard time believing it was really him that had done it. Jon rarely spoke two words a day to him if he was lucky, as neither of those were usually positive. More recently, Jon had also stopped letting Martin or Sasha into his office, and Martin could have sworn he’d seen Jon following him home once or twice. 

Elias had told him not to worry about Jon when he’d brought it up, and Martin had let it go… but Jon seemed to be looking less and less healthy. Like he was getting less sleep, eating less and generally neglecting himself in favor of something, but Martin had no idea what. Martin didn’t know what Elias was keeping to himself about it either; so regardless of what Jon seemed to want, Martin was going to keep hovering over him, offering him food and encouraging him to try and take breaks. 

The third thing Martin learned was that he was supremely unqualified for this position. While he was good at following up with people and observing them, unseen and hidden, that was only part of the job. He’d also needed to dig up information on the many people that “vanished” after giving their statements, and he didn’t have quite the knack for it that Sasha had. He’d had to call Tim several times for help with connections and gathering information from his many “contacts” (exes) to get anywhere with a new case. Not only that, but the Archives themselves were irritating in their own regard; dusty, disorganized, and isolating.

\------

So while Martin didn’t have Sasha’s skills with people, he was good at tidying up and knew something had to be done. One day, after irately grumbling at the archaic state of everything; he had gone a bit mental on the shelves. Martin had started by pulling off statements to check the newness of them... but ended up not only reorganizing them into piles based on their relevance and date taken, but also on their “theme”. Martin realized about six weeks in there were patterns of things people seemed to have dealt with: puppets got their pile, as did spiders, then the dark, then there were a lot about falling so they got their own thing, so on and so forth. 

Martin never went too deep into reading the statements, he just sort of glanced over the initial details and skimmed it for some key words before putting it in the relevant pile in the right order. He remembered Sasha had come to talk to him once as he was doing this around lunchtime, but he’d brushed her off, threatening to clean her little area of the archives he knew she had squirreled away. At this, she gave a hearty laugh and “left him to it” but asked him to “save her corner for last, then.”

Time had flown by, and a good portion of the archive had been tidied and organized into sections; each statement now possessing color-coded tabs on the top by the time Martin had felt the need to stop. He didn’t realize it was nearly time to go until he’d checked his dying phone and realized that no one had come to get him. Figures, he was rather deep within the shelves; he had gotten rather engrossed in his task.

Martin straightened up to go, walking down the aisles when something caught his eye. As he turned down one of the emptier bookcases he had cleared off, Martin noticed a door against the wall that hadn’t been there before. It felt like it belonged there, despite its rather off-putting yellow; but Martin knew better now. He’d only seen this door one other time and it was not in the Archives. Martin walked closer and, instead of trying the handle, knocked on the door.

It creaked open, but instead of it beckoning him in, he saw a spindly, impossible hand reaching out for him. “Do you want to see something interesting, little Assistant?” Spiral asked, though Martin only saw the hand, not the rest of him. After a moment or two, a concerned voice called to him.

“Martin? What’s that?” Sasha, not sounding near as brave as she usually did, was moving to grip onto his arm, staring at the door and the Spiral’s twisting, beckoning hand. Seems like she had been wanting to check on him after all, that was nice of her. Martin turned to look at Sasha, offering a weak sort of shrug.

“Uh, I’ve sort of called it Spiral. Saved me from being late to work, once. Seems to have taken a liking to me, following me about. It uh, offered to show me something.” He offered as if that explained everything. 

The hand hadn’t yet retreated, and in fact, Spiral opened the door fully, grinning at Sasha who peered up at it with eyes the size of dinner plates. 

“I have two hands, would you like to come along as well?” It asked, drawing another hand out towards them, almost looking like a child wanting a hug; if the child was impossibly stretched out and had hands that were filled with sand and hundreds of knives and was possibly mixed with a praying mantis. 

“Are you sure this is wise, Martin?” She asked, peeking sort of behind her as if she was assessing some sort of escape route that didn’t truly exist. 

After a moment or two, Martin moved forward. For some reason, he felt secure in the knowledge that in this place, this moment, Spiral wasn’t going to hurt them, either of them. It was like the idea of that was an impossibility.

“Yes, I’m quite certain if it wanted to hurt us it could have done so already. Lets go, Spiral.” He took Sasha’s hand in his right, then reached forward with his left. Sasha weakly followed suit, each of them moving to take one of the Spiral’s long, fractal-hewn hands. It led them inside those same corridors, giggling that horrid, brain-rending giggle all the while. Martin only had a moment to feel that strange sense of dizziness, to briefly consider he’d made a mistake and this thing had been deluding him into a false sense of security- before they were out another door, the Spiral now disorientingly behind them with a hand on each of their shoulders and Martin and Sasha only holding hands.

They were in a dark sort of place, a strange, slightly dry corridor made of stone. But it was clearly man-made, as it possessed masonry. Both Martin and Sasha looked about. “Where… are we?” Martin hazarded, looking a little put out.

“Underneath the Institute, Assistant. These tunnels go on…. A delightfully long way. They also… change and twist. It’s very interesting.” Spiral hummed, looking down one hallway, then another. 

Sasha had a notebook and was jotting something down. Probably notes for later. “Fascinating. These have been here the whole time then? Are we the only ones who know?”

“Hard to say.” The creature offered, noncommittally. Martin huffed at the half-answer, but looking up at what was very clearly a chalk-marked arrow, he very much doubted it. Someone had been down here, trying to suss things out on their own. 

“Why’d you bring us down here, then?” Martin looked up at it, still not properly understanding the motives of this golden haired impossibility. 

“You like to Know things. This place was here…. You might enjoy trying to Know what is Hard to Know.” It said, taking a long striding step past them without regard to if they were going to follow. 

Martin registered in this moment they should have been in the pitch blackness, but realized the Spiral had a sort of not-light emitting glow, and it was rapidly fading, leaving them in that inky void. Recalling how many statements he’d seen about the dark alone today, he grasped Sasha’s hand and trailed after Spiral.

\--------

It was hard to say how long they walked around. Sasha did her best to map things out, but it was difficult. Not only did it make it hard that Spiral seemed to aimlessly wander, but Martin knew the walls and corridors were changing on them. It was- baffling. They would take a corridor only to be met with a wall where they had previously come once they’d reached the natural end of that trail and tried to backtrack. Spiral seemed quite delighted by this, and would giggle each time it occured, making Martin’s vision swim and his head throb. 

After a long while, Sasha let out a huff. “This is getting us nowhere, we’ve just been wandering in circles. Wherever this place is, we’re decidedly unwelcome.” 

Martin had to agree with her, and the Spiral just looked over at her- no… behind her. Then its mouth split open into a cheshire smile and it let out its longest, most dizzying laugh yet. “It does seem that way…But appearances are often quite deceiving.” Martin followed its gaze and saw a wall that looked… quite recent compared to the rest of these tunnels.

“That looks fake… or well, like it could be broken.” He walked over and pushed at it. Nothing. He gave a more forceful shove, and he felt the masonry give a bit. A sudden, sharp movement of a meaty hand above him cracked the stones and sent them tumbling to the floor. Martin and Sasha blinked as artificial light came filtering in, blinding them for a moment. They were… in Jon’s office. The tunnels had led to a wall right behind Jon’s office!

Martin turned to thank Spiral, but it was nowhere to be found, already having slipped away to who knows where. Figures. The pair of them stepped cautiously through, looking at the rubble on the floor. 

Martin was silent for a moment, as was Sasha. “How are we going to explain this to Jon?” He eventually asked, with a groan. 

Sasha actually laughed at that. “You really went overboard here, Mart-o. But secret tunnels under the Institute? Martin, Jon’s going to love that. It’ll be fine!”

\---------

It was most assuredly not fine. Martin almost hadn’t dared to come in, he was so nervous. He’d left a note, of course. But there just wasn’t really any sort of way you could properly explain this and he’d just sort of rambled on the note. Jon had come in rather late, and as soon as Martin heard the choked scream, he knew he’d been discovered. Jon dashed out, looking at him with wild eyes.

“Martin! You- How did you do this?! How did you know about the tunnels? How long were you and Sasha down there! How?!” He screamed, nearly incoherent with anger and disbelief.

“It was an accident, Jon. It wasn’t like we meant to go down there, we got lost!” He tried to explain himself, looking rather alarmed at all the yelling. He knew Jon would be cross, but this fevered pitch seemed… rather unlike him.

“Wrong! I’ve been trying to map those tunnels for months and they’re different now… they’ve changed and it’s because you did something. How could you get so carried away and foolish! Can’t figure it out now, there’s no way my maps are any good anymore…Who are you working for, to do this to me...What is he planning...” He was beginning to lose focus on Martin, head in his hands and pressed against his face, covering his eyes as he began to shake.

“Jon, I’m really sorry… we can just not go in anymore, maybe there’s some statements that could help about the tunnels… or even talk to Elias-” He offered, moving to give Jon some space, but something stopped him in his tracks. Peeking out from behind Jon’s fingers, a black something distinctly felt like it was...looking at him. 

Martin was suddenly aware of more of them, black and appearing on Jon’s exposed skin like they had always been there. Black eyes were rolling in their sockets, spinning as the other’s thin frame shook, hunched over. “There’s no point. Got to figure it out. Need to… what are they planning...” Jon murmured.

“Jon? Jon are you okay?” Martin asked, quite concerned and more than a bit frightened. He stepped back from the shivering man.

Sasha had come up at this point, not able to avoid the yelling and, after a few moments, looked just as worried. “Uh-oh. He’s trying to Know something. This could be really bad, Martin. He’s only done this a few times and it nearly killed him last time!”

Martin straightened up, at once feeling hysterical and out of control of the situation. “You really think I’m out to get you then? Fine! I’ll leave you to this- this self destructive paranoia! The only thing I’ve ever done is care and help and you’ve pushed me away! I’ve had enough of this place and everyone’s bloody secrets!” 

With that, he rushed out of the room, heading for the stairs and ignoring everyone and everything around him. He stepped out into the streets, instead falling into a numbing, welcoming fog that had been almost waiting for him. He stood there, panting as he felt the stress of everything ebb away from him, leeching away. Martin had wanted to cry, feeling the emotions bottling up and ready to overflow as he ran, but in here? There wasn’t any need for that. He could just let everything fade away… 

But a large, firm weight on his shoulder shook him out of that. “Spiral? You’re… here?” He turned to look, but the hand that had been there was gone-maybe it wasn’t there at all. Instead, there was only a strange, misshapen blanket draped across his shoulders. It smelled strongly of ozone, and the strange, crochet form looked like it disappeared into hundreds of tiny little lightning fractals, Mandelbrot something or other, his mind unhelpfully supplied. Still, he curled this odd blanket around himself, and enjoyed the warmth and slight tingle it gave him, and as his eyes closed the fog dwindled away from him, leaving him alone in the dark streets of Chelsea.

He could hear then a panicked yelling of his name. “-tin? Martin where are you?!” He looked behind him, where Sasha was down the street, calling out into the night.

“I’m right here, Sasha.” He responded, moving towards her, but she dashed back to him. “Martin, thank god I’d thought you’d gone- it's Jon. Please, he needs your help and Elias is being useless… are you, wearing a different jumper?”

Martin looked down at said jumper, which had a branched lightning design all the way across it and shrugged, moving to walk inside.

Jon hadn’t so much as moved from where he was before, curled up and shivering as a hundred dark eyes tried to see out into the air. Elias was there, looking distinctly unimpressed by it all. “Come on Jon, a little bit of Knowing and you’re like this? You need to Do Better.” He said, tone dry, but there was a distinct note of concern underneath that.

“Ah, Martin you’re back. Good. Jon’s going to need a bit of help here, and I can’t touch him when he’s like this. It needs to be you.” Martin rolled his eyes but reached for Jon and hefted his boss’ arm over his shoulder. Jon’s tension bled out of him and he sagged against Martin’s weight, those eyes focused on him and only him. Martin did his best to ignore the persistent feeling of being watched and Known that bled deep into his very soul as he walked and led Jon towards the back room, where Martin knew there was a cot Jon could lie down on.

As time passed on the slow and arduous trip, Jon’s eyes seemed to shut. Not only his regular ones but the… others, until they weren’t even there, leaving a hoarsely breathing and very much “normal” head archivist in his hold. Martin settled Jon down on the cot, tucking him in as he collapsed into an exhausted sleep. 

Martin looked about, feeling much less… observed than he had been, and letting out a sigh of relief. “I think... I’m going to need a cup of tea after all that.” He muttered, looking at the cot, then down to his hands with a sigh. Just another day in the archives, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only work on this fic at around midnight can someone explain this to me? Also I really don't know what I'm doing to the canon here. I'm just kind of pushing it into shape. Mehhhhh.... Is this my favorite chapter? No. But! I like it better than I did this morning when I only had a paragraph.
> 
> Thank you again for all your support, it really means a lot and I love you all dearly!
> 
> The Magnus Archives is a podcast produced by Rusty Quill. This fanfiction is a fever dream produced by my depressed brain only during the hours of 11pm to 2am.

**Author's Note:**

> There we have it, I'm hoping that I can finish this up, its been a long time since I've felt the inspiration to write, but something about this idea really sings with me. Martin would make a great Sophie Hatter and doing something like this I feel will be really interesting. I still don't know who half of the characters are going to be but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it, eh?
> 
> The Magnus Archives is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill, and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International license. It fits under the genre of horror fiction podcast, and is written by Jonathan Sims and directed by Alexander J. Newall.


End file.
